


Wedding Nights

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: Wedding nights with the Baratheon brothers.





	Wedding Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to delete my AO3 account back in April (for various reasons I won’t get into), but changed my mind after a while. A number of fics from 2012 and 2013 were already deleted, however, and I’m going to repost some of them. This one was written in 2013 as a pair to I See Your Face (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15821022)

**Cersei Lannister**

Robert was not Jaime, blood of her blood, flesh of her flesh, but he had swung his warhammer at Rhaegar Targaryen and vanquished the man who had humiliated Cersei and her father when he married the Dornish princess. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of hair as dark as coal, Robert was as much a maiden's fantasy as the silver prince, she told herself. Robert was strong and _powerful_ , and when the crowd cheered for him and his bride, Cersei silently cheered as well. She smiled and smiled until her mouth was hurting.  

_He is mine. Mine. All mine._

_I am the queen. Queen of the entire realm. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms._

That Dornish princess had only managed “wife of the overthrown Prince of Dragonstone” in her list of accomplishments, Cersei thought with relish.

Her smile faded slightly when Robert’s hands squeezed her breasts so forcefully the bruises would not heal for days afterwards. It faded even more when his teeth snapped shut on her nipples, and when he bit her lips so hard until he drew blood as he clumsily tried to kiss her on the mouth, his breath smelling foully of wine.

“You are hurting me,” she told him, and he acted as if he had not heard her plea. Or perhaps he had heard her, and simply did not care.

Her smile disappeared completely when he whispered _“Lyanna”_ as he entered her, entered her so brutally and forcefully that she thought her insides would rupture.

She did not tell him that he was hurting her, this time.

 _Your precious Lyanna would be disgusted with the drunken oaf of a man that you are_ , she thought. Her own disgust was overwhelming. Every touch, every contact, every gesture made her skin crawl, made her want to throw up copiously.

She scrubbed herself so hard in the bath the next morning that she feared her skin might peel away. She wanted rid of every trace of Robert Baratheon. His skin, his blood, his flesh, his seed; she wanted none of it _on_ her, or _inside_ her.

When Jaime came to her, as he had always done from the start, she did not turn him away.

 _**__________________________** _ ****

**Selyse Florent**

Legs. Entangled legs, she saw those first, in the dimness of the room lighted only by a single candle. Her mind was slow to decipher what she was witnessing at first. _Are those Stannis’ legs, and mine, in our wedding bed?_  

_Is it over? The bedding?_

That her first thought had been relief, at the thought that the bedding _was_ over, would haunt her for a long time to come.

“Robert!” Stannis’ voice was like a thunder before a great storm.

“I am sorry, Lord Stannis. Please forgive me, Selyse. His Grace … he … he took me here. I … I could not …” Delena would not stop crying and apologizing. Selyse’s head was pounding.

“Out! Out both of you!” Stannis had taken hold of Robert’s arm, and was pushing him out of the room. Delena wrapped herself with a blanket and ran out after the drunken king, her cries still audible.

“You! You there, come here.”

What was her husband doing, calling for a maid?  _No, no, no!_ That was ill-judged, supremely ill-judged. No one else should be privy to their humiliation, to the insult Robert Baratheon had piled on them on their wedding night.

“My lord –“ Selyse started to say.

“Fetch me a bedsheet and some blankets,” Stannis ordered the puzzled maid, and promptly closed the door with a thud. Before Selyse could move, he had stripped the bed bare, throwing the soiled bedsheet in a corner, fury and disgust palpable on his face.

When the maid came back with the new bedsheet and blankets, Selyse took them from her and said firmly, “Thank you. You may leave now.”

“Should I make the bed, m’lady?”

“No!” Selyse snapped angrily. “Leave us.”

Her hands trembled as she made the bed herself. Stannis was staring at the soiled bedsheet in the corner, his eyes boring into the offending article as if he could set it on fire with his wrathful gaze.

“My lord husband, the bed is ready.” Selyse made sure that her voice was not trembling.

_A son. I will give him a son conceived this very night in our wedding bed, and he will cease to remember the humiliation of our wedding night, and its dark shadow will not loom over our marriage forevermore. I will give him the son he has always desired, for he must be like other men, who dream of sons above all else._

He came to her, reluctantly, and they both did their duty as best they could. But a curse had been put on their wedding bed, Selyse was convinced, when a boy did not come from their union, that night and all the nights after.

There _was_ a boy conceived in that same bed that night, a bastard with his father’s black hair and his mother’s Florent ears.

_They stole our son! Robert and Delena stole our son, when they made that bastard Edric Storm in our wedding bed._

_**__________________________** _ ****

**Margaery Tyrell**

Renly was courteous to the very last. He was courteous when he kissed her during the wedding ceremony. He was courteous when he told his men to treat her courteously as they stripped her naked during the bedding ceremony. He was courteous when he wrapped her with blankets after the door was closed and they were finally alone, together, in their wedding chamber.

“Are you cold, my dear Margaery?” he asked, but he did not wait for her answer before wrapping her with layers upon layers of thick blankets. He then fashioned another blanket as a sort of waistcloth to cover his own bottom half.

“No, Your Grace, I am not cold.” They would have be to be naked to do what must be done, Margaery knew that much. She knew almost everything there was to know about it, in fact. Her mother and her grandmother were not blushing women shy or afraid to tell her the facts of life. Her hands started lowering the blankets covering her. Renly stared at her exposed shoulders with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“How old are you, Margaery dear? And please, you must call me Renly, not Your Grace. You are my queen now, not one of my subjects.”

“Sixteen. I will be sixteen on my next nameday,” replied Margaery, as her hands were pushing the blankets further and further down her body, her cleavage clearly visible now. Renly paid no heed to it at all.

“Fifteen, then. You are only fifteen.” He grabbed the blankets covering her with both hands, and pushed them back over her shoulders. “They say childbirth could be dangerous for a woman so young. We should wait. For your sake, my dear.”

“I am not afraid, Your Gra … Renly. I am not afraid to do my duty and to give you a son and heir.”

“It can wait. We have plenty of time for that,” he whispered with a smile, as he put on his clothes and left her alone on her wedding night, swaddled in thick blankets.


End file.
